


To See With Loves Eyes

by TheRealDanniX



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapped Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, No Beta, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Post 1-6, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Slow Build, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, preslash, we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:48:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealDanniX/pseuds/TheRealDanniX
Summary: “Jaskier.”“You just came towards the light to growl and hiss at whoever was stupid enough to be camping in a monster’s hunting ground.”“Jaskier.”“No need to yell at me. It took twenty years, but I’ve got the message,” Jaskier snapped, facing Geralt once again. “No more jumping into the way or annoying ballads. You can get your peace and I’ll just…”“Jaskier! I can’t fucking see!” Geralt yelled. His face was twisted in frustration.____Or Geralt gets spelled and Jaskier just has to help him even though he's hurting
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 57
Kudos: 422





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> POV will change each chapter. Sorry they're not longer, but these two idiots are consuming my life and I had no choice but to write.

Normally, it was Jaskier who would be found stumbling through the forest by his Witcher, so it was quite a surprise when Geralt of Rivia came into the light of Jaskier’s fire with none of his usual coordination. Jaskier nearly dropped his lute as he bolted to his feet.   
“Geralt!” he exclaimed. His voice held none of his normal joyous tones as the Witcher’s head snapped towards him. Jaskier wanted to be furious with him. Wanted to hurl insults and yell. Wanted to send Geralt away just as the Witcher had sent him away on the mountain months ago. He wanted his heart to not fluttered as the sight of the messy white hair and filthy armor. But this was his Witcher. And something was wrong. “What are you doing out here?” Simple words with no flourish. Worried as he was, Jaskier didn’t think Geralt deserved pretty words. Not now, anyways. Geralt didn’t respond, not even with a hmm or a growl. “Come on, Witcher. You cannot just come stumbling into my campsite after months apart and just silently gape at me. Especially not after…” Jaskier’s voice caught and choked on the words. He cleared his throat and tried to stand straighter. “So, I shall ask again, and, if you don’t answer I’ll just leave you with your peace and be on my way. What are you doing out here, alone, in the middle of the night?”  
The Witcher’s yellow eyes were unfocused as he breathed, “Jaskier.” Jaskier raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Geralt did seem to be able to say anymore. It was only then that Jaskier noticed just how alone Geralt was. There was no sign of Roach and all the Witcher had with him were his swords.   
“Are you on a hunt? That’s it isn’t it?” Jaskier decided, not allowing a moment for Geralt to speak. “You are on a hunt and you’ve come here to tell me I’ve scared off your monster or that I’m in the way once again.” The bard folded his arms.  
“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.  
“Well, that’s fine with me. You can go back to your monster guts and I’ll just be on my merry way getting out of yours.” Slinging his lute onto his back, Jaskier scooped up his notebook and started cleaning up his campsite. Angry or not, it was not wise to be in the middle of a monster fight. Particularly when he did not want to be worried about his Witcher. “I suppose you didn’t even know that it was me who threw off your hunt.”  
“Jaskier.”  
“You just came towards the light to growl and hiss at whoever was stupid enough to be camping in a monster’s hunting ground.”  
“Jaskier.”  
“No need to yell at me. It took twenty years, but I’ve got the message,” Jaskier snapped, facing Geralt once again. “No more jumping into the way or annoying ballads. You can get your peace and I’ll just…”  
“Jaskier! I can’t fucking see!” Geralt yelled. His face was twisted in frustration.   
Jaskier was frozen and, for once, no words seemed to come. He opened his mouth several times, only for nothing to come out. Finally, he managed to stutter out words. “What?” He stared into the older man’s pale face and saw that his yellow eyes, were still unfocused. Not clear and glowing as they normally would be. They didn’t follow him as he moved or flit through their surroundings looking for danger. They moved only when a sound was made and, even then, they didn’t always hit their mark. “What happened?”  
“Stregabor,” Geralt hissed. Jaskier felt ice travel up his spine. He knew how much Geralt hated the mage. He also knew that was likely the only explanation he would get.   
“All right,” Jaskier moved towards the Witcher, gently taking his hand. “Well, then let me help you. You can sleep here and when it’s light, we’ll find your things and Roach and get you help. Perhaps we can find Yennefer, and she can lift the spell.” Jaskier guided Geralt to his bedroll. “I suppose I’ll keep watch, then. You certainly can’t.” He knew he was rambling. He still wanted to be very much pissed at the White Wolf, but he couldn't muster any anger. His Witcher was hurt. He released the Geralt and unstrapped his swords, as he had done countless times before. Geralt didn’t speak, so Jaskier filled the space. “After all, I may be small, but I am not weak nor unobservant. I did survive on my own before I met you and after you… after I left.” He cleared his throat, taking a seat on the log he had moved close to the fire. “Of course, Destiny would have you come bumbling into my camp after meeting that horrible thing.” He eyed the Witcher. “How did you find my camp, Geralt?” Geralt didn’t respond. Instead, he laid back and turned his face to the sky. “I supposed I assumed you just came towards the closest light, but, if you truly can’t see anything, how on earth did you ever get close enough to me? These woods are dense and widespread.”   
“I could smell you,” the Witcher huffed finally.   
“And, what do I smell like?” Jaskier asked, his interest piqued.   
“You,” Geralt growled. He rolled over to put his back to the bard.   
“How informative,” Jaskier sighed. He pulled his lute off his back and began to pick and write his songs. He watched his Witcher until Geralt’s breathing slowed, then turned his attention to the forest. Watching and listening for any threat that may come.


	2. The Eyes of the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same thing, but from Geralt's POV

Geralt hated being vulnerable. After telling Stregabor to fuck off and losing his sight in the middle of the forest, he thought he was sure to wander around until he died there. It was hours of blind groping, trying to get back to Roach, before he caught the scent. It was faint, and it had been a month since he had last smelt it, but it was there. Paper and ink and expensive oils mixing with the natural sweet flower scent that always followed his bard. Had he not been so desperate for help, he likely would have started going the opposite direction, as he had been doing for the last nine months. He knew how much he had hurt the bard and knew that the bard certainly wouldn’t want to see him. It was better that way. A human was bound to die and, after twenty years with his bard, Geralt didn’t want to waste any more of his time. Unlike Yennefer, the bard didn’t have years to waste. But there wasn’t another option. If Geralt wanted to survive, if he wanted to get his sight back, he’d need someone he could trust. Who could he trust more than his bard?   
So he had followed the smell. He could feel the temperature drop and he continued to stumble through the woods. It had to have been hours after sunset by the time Geralt could hear the bard, singing to himself in the woods. He briefly wondered why the Bard was so deep, in the thickest part of the forest, but there was a strong pull the closer he got to the source of the smell so he ignored it. So strong that he didn’t pause to consider what he’d say as he barreled into the bard’s campsite.   
“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed. Anxiety and pain crept into the scent wrapping around him. The Witcher frowned, trying to face him. Hearing the bard keep talking, asking questions with none of his usual flourishes and no tune to his voice. When the voice caught in Jaskier's throat, Geralt finally cleared his head enough to pay attention to the actual words. “What are you doing out here, alone, in the middle of the night?”  
“Jaskier,” Geralt said. No other words came out. Even as Jaskier pressed him further. Even as it grew frustratingly clear that the Bard was too distracted by his presence to have noticed anything wrong. Geralt must have said Jaskier’s name four times before his patience snapped and so did her. “Jaskier! I can’t fucking see!” The Witcher ground his teeth. That was not what he had wanted to say. Not how he wanted to start a conversation with his bard. But it had worked. The bard had finally started asking the right questions.   
“What happened?”  
“Stregabor,” Geralt said. Then he lost his words again. Not sure how to explain the way the mage had ambushed him with a contract. Or why the mage was angered enough at the Witcher to curse him. Or that Stregabor had done it with the express purpose of making sure Geralt never saw his bard again. Somehow, Jaskier didn’t press. He had taken Geralt’s hand and guided him to his own bedroll. Geralt had ignored the wonderful feeling that came from Jaskier’s soft, gentle practiced hands helping him with his swords. The bard never stopped speaking, but, instead of annoying Geralt, as it used too, the words washed over him as a sort of hope, calming his thoughts. With Jaskier so close, Geralt could tell that he hadn’t been using the oils as much because he could smell the sweet scent of Jaskier underneath the faded oils and he wanted to gulp the scent down. But it didn’t last and Jaskier settled farther away from Geralt. He could smell the smoke of the fire between them and feel Jaskier stare at him.   
“How did you find my camp, Geralt?” The bard wasn’t stupid. Geralt laid flat on his back, closing his eyes and breathing in the forest, trying (and failing) to ignore Jaskier. Jaskier made that difficult. “I supposed I assumed you just came towards the closest light, but, if you truly can’t see anything, how on earth did you ever get close enough to me? These woods are dense and widespread.”  
“I could smell you,” Geralt had said.   
He could almost hear the smile in the bard’s response. “And what do I smell like?”  
“You.” Then Geralt had turned his back on Jaskier. He knew if he indulged the bard any further, his resolve would fail, and the hurt of the mountain would have been for nothing.   
Morning brought a moment of confusion when his eyes opened and the darkness stayed. He sat up quickly, reaching for his swords. He stopped himself as he recalled the day before and Stregabor’s words. “You will never see your darling bard again. May that teach you to ignore your betters, Butcher.” Geralt grimaced.  
“Did you sleep well?” Jaskier voice was hesitant and quiet. Not words he would usually ascribe to the bard. Geralt hmmed. “Then we should go. The sun’s up. I’ll get you back to Roach and find you a healer.” Jaskier was quiet, not even humming, as he cleaned his campsite and helped Geralt strap his swords on. He stayed quiet the whole way back to the road where they found Roach, waiting impatiently. The horse huffed but seemed somewhat pleased with Jaskier's presence. Jaskier guided Geralt into her saddle and took the reins, managing to guide the horse without getting nipped. Or Geralt assumed so. He didn’t hear Roach’s teeth click or the bard yelp anyways. Hours passed and still, the bard stayed silent. Now, Silence was something that Geralt was used to. Most of his travels were silent. But this silence was tense and odd. With one sense missing, Geralt found he wanted to hear Jaskier babble and hum and sing just to know the bard was still there, even though his smell was sharp and clear just ahead. The worst part was the Witcher knew why. He had asked for peace and the bard was trying to give it to him. Pain still tinged the bard’s scent, mingled with guilt and worry.


	3. The Bard and Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets the Witcher help but finds it may be more difficult than just finding help. 
> 
> Or Yen likes Jaskier cause they're friends and I will go down with this HC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short again, but this is how I'm currently writing and I think it's working. Next chapter should be up by tomorrow. Or tonight if I can't sleep again. And it should be longer to compensate for our dear emotionally stunted Wolf.

Jaskier wanted to leave Geralt as soon as they got to town. To be so close and kept at arm’s length was far more painful than simply hiding himself away in the forest for the rest of his life. But he stayed at the Witcher’s side until Destiny spit in his face once again. In the market was Yennefer, with her sharp features and violet eyes. Despite how much he hated the witch, she was exactly what he needed. Well, she was what the Witcher needed. She saw them and grimaced. “There,” Jaskier said, crossing his arms. “Your lover here to fix your eyes.” Geralt tensed beside him, and, had he been human, Jaskier suspected that the man’s heart would have been pounding. They had tied Roach up by the inn, Jaskier using the last of his coin to ensure her safety while they sought out a healer. Jaskier hadn’t dared take Geralt’s hand again, instead ensuring that he was as close as possible without touching. He only risked a gentle brush against the Witcher if the man started drifting the wrong direction. Upon the revelation that the mage was here, Jaskier caught the Witcher seeming to lean closer to the Bard. He quickly dismissed it. He couldn’t entertain such thoughts. Not yet. Not again. They stayed still as Yennefer approached them. “Hello, Jaskier.” She said with a sweet smile. “Witcher. What brings you here?” The question was directed at Jaskier, which surprised him more than anything else had in the past day. He would have sworn up and down the Continent that the mage hated him.  
“Well, Yennefer, I’m here because I was looking for you, believe it or not,” Jaskier put on his best show smile. The sorceress seemed to see right through it.  
“With an ass in tow,” she snipped. “What do you need bard?”  
“Geralt’s been cursed,” Jaskier started. Yennefer’s violet glare stopping him. He took a tentative step back, bumping into Geralt. “Ah, I’m guessing this means you won’t help.”  
Yennefer policed her features, never looking at the Witcher. She watched Jaskier, taking him in as if he were an open book, every ounce of heartbreak splayed across the pages. Finally, she sighed. “I’ll help, bard, but not for the Witcher. What kind of curse?”  
“I’m not sure, exactly,” Jaskier looked helplessly at Geralt, ignoring the pain in his chest at the Witcher’s stoic face. “All I know is that a mage called Stregabor blinded him.”   
Yennefer frowned, only then looking at the Witcher. “I need more details than that, but not here.” She brushed past them leading them out of the market. Jaskier grabbed the Witcher’s sleeve and pulled him along for a moment, before remembering he was meant to be mad at the great brute and released him. Geralt still followed silently, just beside him, not reacting to Jaskier’s touching, as if it were just another day in the market with his bard. Jaskier cursed himself as reminded himself that he was not the Witcher’s bard. Not anymore. The Witcher may have been his, but it had been made quite clear that the bard was on his own. Yennefer lead them to a large house near the town center. Her house, Jaskier assumed, though it was most likely gotten by charming the former owner. “Bring him in here, Bard.” Yennefer gestured to a dining area by the door and she continued deeper into the house. Jaskier did as he was told, guiding Geralt into a chair and taking a seat in one on the other side of the room.   
“I take it you did something to irritate our violet-eyed friend,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt hmmed. “Of course, you did. You would manage to piss off everyone who cares about you at the same time. You seem to have a talent for it. Just as you seem to have a talent for skirting Destiny and tempting her along all the same.”   
“He certainly does,” Yennefer said, returning to the room carrying an armful of herbs. “Now, Witcher, I need to know exactly what happened.”  
“Jaskier, get out,” the Witcher growled.  
“Excuse me?” Jaskier rose from his seat. “I drag your sorry blind ass along, out of the woods and guide you all around town, and now you want me gone again? I will not….”  
“The bard stays,” Yen said cutting him off. Geralt’s face twisted in frustration. The same face he had worn after the Child Surprise and before the Djinn. The face of a man pissed at the world. Jaskier felt surprised at the Mage’s support.  
“Yen,” Geralt growled. “I can’t tell you with him here.” Something in the Mage’s violet eyes cracked as she scanned the agitated brute, seeing something that Jaskier couldn’t.  
Finally, she sighed, just as she had when she had decided to help them. “You will owe me, Witcher,” she hissed. Her eyes flicked to Jaskier. “Wait outside. I’ll take care of the beast.” Jaskier had no choice but to leave the house and his Witcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of y'all so much for responding to this!  
> Drop a Kudos or a comment and I'll try to respond to all of y'all.


	4. Violets and Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth about the Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for so much support! I didn't think so many people would want to read this.
> 
> I'm sorry it's shorter than the others and late to boot, but you get to see Yen go off and get a hint at Jaskier's secret. It's been a hell of a week. I'll try to get a couple more chapters in while I'm off this weekend.

Before he can open his mouth, Yennefer goes off. “You stupid brute! What are you doing dragging that poor bard back into your shit?” Fury, sharp and burning, covers the other scents that she normally carries. The Witcher rose from his chair, but she slammed her hand into his chest and stopped him from moving. “Did you stop to think about the hell you put him through before you turned to tumble your troubles onto him once again? Just because he’s your ever-loyal pet doesn’t mean you can treat him as if he’s not a living breathing person!” Yennefer slams a fist into the Witcher’s chest. “Now tell me what ails you so that I can be rid of your fucking shit show.” Her voice was fierce and Geralt knew the witch’s eyes were fixed on him.  
“It was a curse,” Geralt starts.  
“We’ve established that.” There is thick venom in her voice.  
“Stregabor, the bastard, tricked me with a fake contract. The whole town was convinced. Then he ambushed me in the woods.”  
“Why?” she snapped.  
“Wanted me to do a job. Wanted me to…” Great hesitated. He didn’t want to say it. “Stregabor wanted me to hunt down Jaskier.”  
“He what?” she hissed. A new scent mingled with her fury, one that Geralt couldn’t place, boosted by the rage that literally simmered on the sorceress’s skin.   
“I refused.”  
“I should hope so. You cause him enough pain without going and killing him too. But you can’t just gloss over that, Witcher. Why does Stregabor want Jaskier dead?”   
Geralt wanted to look in her eyes. He should have told Jaskier first. Before Yen. But Yennefer was the one asking. “The bard isn’t human.”  
“I know that Geralt.” Her voice was flat, but the rage was still burning. “We’ve all known that for the past twenty years.”  
“He doesn’t.”  
“I know that too.”  
“Stregabor wants to dissect him.”  
“Of course he does,” she hissed. “What did he do when you refused?”  
“He cursed my sight.”  
“With what, you oaf?” Her voice echoed around room and Geralt was sure that even Jaskier heard her.  
“He said that I would never see the bard again then he threw something in my face,” Geralt growled. Yennefer cursed. He heard her expensive boots clack across the floors as she paced back and forth. He had no idea what she was doing, but he could hear her muttering in Elder as she moved. Her rage had abated some, flowing into her work rather than being unleashed on the Witcher.   
“You’re sure he specifically mentioned the bard?” Yen asked. Geralt tried to follow her voice as he nodded. A book slammed closed. “You dumb, daft, fuck,” she hissed. It wasn’t directed at Geralt, though he wasn’t sure exactly who it was directed at. “Don’t move.” Suddenly, she was right in front of him, muttering Elder, with her hands hovering right in front of his face. He could smell some kind of oils or cream on her hands and would have sworn it was the same scent Jaskier had been using the last time they had met. She cursed again, louder and fiercer than before, storming away from Geralt. “JASKIER!!” Her voice hurt the Witcher’s ears. The sounds of the door opening and the bard entering were muffled. He grunted. Now two senses were failing him.  
“You don’t have to yell,” Jaskier scolded. “I was just outside. All you had to do was open the door, rather than yelling loud enough to wake the Dragons of Hengfors.”   
“Stay with the Witcher,” Yennefer ordered. “I have to consult a friend. Do not leave this house.”


	5. Buttercups and Marigolds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It has been a while since I wrote this, and I'm so so so sorry that it took me so long. I hit a roadblock here that I have finally gotten past. 
> 
> Let me know what y'all think, leave a comment or drop a Kudos.
> 
> Y'all are amazing and super patient so I promise, I swear on Jaskier's life that the next chapter will be up tomorrow or the day after. It's already half-written.

Yennefer opened a portal and left, leaving Jaskier alone with his Witcher once again. Jaskier watched the older man, trying his best to stay quiet. After all, that’s what Geralt wanted. Jaskier settled into the same seat as before and pulled out his notebook, scribbling lyrics and poems to keep his mouth shut. “Jaskier,” Geralt said. The bard wasn’t sure how long had passed since they had been left alone, but the sunlight coming from the windows was stretching the shadows. Jaskier forced himself to look up. In the orange glow, the Witcher’s hair looked whiter and his eyes were like molten gold. His heart stuttered at the sight and he found that his words wouldn’t come again, leaving him to only make a strangled hum in response. “I- I’m sorry,” Geralt sighed silently. The scars on his face seemed to shine as his face moved. Jaskier couldn’t react. He couldn’t breathe. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He felt his mouth open, but no sound came out. “I’m sorry. I should never have said what I did. You didn’t deserve that.” The Witcher’s voice was quiet. 

Jaskier felt tears stinging his eyes. “Then why the hell did you say it?” he hissed.

“I-I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You did a swell job of that.” Jaskier was on his feet. His notebook and grease pencil tumbled to the floor. “Did you think that your words wouldn’t hurt? Did you not consider how hurt you’ve been by the words of others all your lives? Did you think me immune to the same hurt?”

“No.” Geralt sighed. “I knew that would hurt you.”

“Then explain, Geralt, because I’m confused. You knew it would hurt me, but you didn’t want to hurt me.” Jaskier paced across the room, trying to regulate his breathing.

“I-uh-fuck.” Geralt grimaced. “Jaskier, it’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it, dear Witcher,” Jaskier begged, turning back to where Geralt was seated. “Please, just tell me why.” His vision blurred with tears.

“Jaskier, traveling with me is dangerous.” Jaskier snorted. After glaring at him (almost), Geralt continued. “It’s particularly dangerous for you.”

“As opposed to?” The bard folded his arms.

“As opposed to if you were human.” He kept his voice even, but it felt it slammed into Jaskier. He stumbled back, shaking.

“How did you know?” Jaskier breathed. “I-I was always careful. I never used any powers around you. My glamour… I never-I never…” Jaskier kept backing up, eyes fixed on the Witcher. Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“What did you do to the bard, Witcher?” Yennefer snarled. Her grip was like iron. It was too much. He knew. Geralt knew. The bard’s body was shaking. He couldn’t focus on anything and he felt his glamour slip from his control. Yennefer still held him. She was yelling at Geralt, unperturbed that she was now holding someone with pointed ears and dark brown wings. Someone else took him from Yennefer with their gentle hands. She steered him out of the room, whispering in a calming tone, but Jaskier couldn’t understand the words. He forced himself to focus on her. Her dark frizzy hair. Her freckles. Her dark brown eyes. It took her far too long to realize that she had said the same word several times. He focused on it.

“Jaskier,” she said. Her voice was sweet and gentle.

“I’m okay,” he managed. She smiled at him.

“Good. You didn’t respond for a while there and I think you had Yen worried.” She chuckled. “I’m Triss, Yen’s friend.”

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you, despite the circumstances.” He held out his hand to her and saw the inhuman tint of his skin. His glamour was still down.

“Nice to meet you too, Bard.” She still took the offered hand with a smile. “You don’t have to put your glamour up again. I don’t mind. I’ve never seen a fairy before.”

“I’m not fae,” Jaskier sighed. “Not entirely.” Triss was quiet, waiting for him to go on. “I’m half-fae. My father was fae. He courted my mother then returned to the court, leaving her with me. If that was it, I doubt I’d have to be so careful though. My mother was half-elf. Which makes me both half-fae and a quadroon.”

Triss’s eyes were wide. “I’ve never heard of fae blood mixing with elf blood.”

Jaskier looked away. “I think I’m the only one,” he sighed. “I don’t particularly want to test that though.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself as his glamour fell back into place. “I assume that she went to fetch you to help Geralt.”

“Are you so concerned for your Witcher, that you don’t care for yourself?” She tilted her head.

“I am fine. The only people who know what I am are in this house or dead. I have been careful. Or I thought I had.” He sighed again. “Geralt is never careful, though, and now he’s gotten himself blinded. I would say someone has to care about him since he obviously doesn’t care for himself.”

“Your Witcher will be fine. Yennefer and I can reverse the spell.”

“He’s not my Witcher,” he muttered. “Not anymore.”

“I think he will always be your Witcher, just as you will always be the White Wolf’s bard.” She smiled at him. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get so upset earlier?” She gestured vaguely the way they had come from.

“I didn’t know that Geralt had known I wasn’t human. I thought that no one knew anymore.” He let out a dry laugh. “I suppose her reaction means that Yennefer knew too.”

“She told me that you didn’t know you weren’t human.” Triss chuckled. “Obviously, that’s not the case.”

“I wonder how many other people have seen through my glamour.” Jaskier frowned.

“Traveling with a Witcher, you meet a great number of people who can discern nonhumans with ease.” Triss let her smiled fall. “You took a great risk for songs and fame, Bard.”

“That’s not why I stayed.”


	6. Faith and fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Y'all are incredible
> 
> Thank you for being so patient. I'm sorry this chapter's short, but I'm in the right headspace for this fic right now and I'm hopeful it'll be a quick update next.

“As opposed to if you were human.” He kept his voice even, but it didn’t seem to help his bard.

“How did you know?” Jaskier breathed. His heart rate skyrocketed. “I-I was always careful. I never used any powers around you. My glamour… I never-I never…” Jaskier kept backing up, eyes fixed on the Witcher. Suddenly lilacs and embers mixed with Jaskier’s bitter smell.

“What did you do to the Bard, Witcher?” Yennefer roared. She had to be near where Jaskier had been standing. Geralt felt his medallion vibrate and knew that someone had used a spell. The sudden crispness of Jaskier’s smell suggests it was his glamour.

“I didn’t do anything,” Geralt sighed. He still couldn’t figure out why Yennefer seemed to care so much about his bard now. “I was trying to be gentle.”

“Gentle? Gentle?! Geralt, whatever you did scared him enough to shake his fucking glamour!” She moved towards him, boots clacking. “What the fuck did you say to him?”

“I told him I knew he wasn’t human.”

“And?”

“That’s it. He knew. He was just surprised I knew.” Geralt let his head fall. There was no point in trying to find where she was standing in the room.

“You mean to say he’s known what he is the whole time and was just acting like an idiot.” Her voice was thankfully quieter. “So, you didn’t hurt him, you just scared him.”

“Hmm.”

“Fine.” She was moving again, books flipped open and glass clinked. “We can fix your damn eyes. The spell was in the ingredients. The words were just to throw us off.”

“How long?”

“It should only take an hour once Triss is done calming your bard. After that, you better fix things with him. As much as I hate to admit it, the only safe place on the continent for Jaskier is with your stubborn arse.”

The Witcher stayed silent for a moment, just letting her work. “Will you tell me what he is?” he asked finally.

She stopped moving, probably looking at him. Finally, she sighed. “I would if I knew.”

“You saw him,” he snorted.

“Yes, but I don’t know what he is. He’s not an elf. He’s not a fae. He’s not any kind of nature sprite I recognize. Whatever he is, I don’t know it. You’ll have to ask him. That’s why Stregabor wants him.” He could see it, but he felt her glare fixed on him. “I know you like to think you don’t get involved in human affairs, but that bastard won’t stop coming until he’s dead or the bard’s dead.” A growl formed in his throat, but he choked it down. There was a light laugh from somewhere behind Yennefer. Another smell, like ice and snowbells, drifted into the room.

“I see you haven’t changed much, Witcher,” Triss Marigold said. He heard her walk towards him and tried to keep himself still when her skilled fingers touched his face. “You are very lucky to have such a loyal friend.”

Before Geralt can get a word out, Yennefer cuts him off. “Don’t you dare say he isn’t your friend, Witcher,” she snapped. “Only a friend would drag your worthless arse here for help after what you did to him.” Geralt grimaced.

“She’s right,” Triss sighed. “And I fear that you’ll have to go after him once you have your sight back.” She moved, likely helping Yennefer prepare for the cure. “I calmed your bard, but he’s hurting. Worse, he still trusts you. He won’t be safe when he leaves, and he may leave before we’re done here. He may be on his way out now.” She was back in front of him. “Close your eyes.” He obeyed and some kind of paste or salve was rubbed into his eyelids. “There. Yen can do the rest.” Triss stepped away and he heard a portal open. Yennefer’s boot’s clacked over in front of him. He could imagine what she looked like. Glaring at him with her violet eyes and crossed arms.

“If you intend to leave him on his own, I’m not going to do this, and Triss work will go to waste. Leaving you to stumble around as a blind Witcher for the rest of your miserable life,” she hissed.

“Why do you care?” Geralt sighed.

“He doesn’t deserve your shit just because he cares for you. Now answer me. Will you go after him?” Her voice was like a blade twisting in his gut. He grunted. “I don’t speak in hums and grunts, Witcher. Will you go after him?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” A moment later chaos swirled in the room, the smell and sense of it was overwhelming, worse than any spell he’d sensed before. It wasn’t stronger, but it seemed like it was. His senses were overwhelmed as he fought the urge to pull away and get out of the room. Then it was gone. “Your sight will return by the end of the hour. Then you will go get your damn bard.”


	7. Ice and Iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it would be a fast update!
> 
> It's still shorter than I would have wanted, but damn if these assholes don't do what they want. 
> 
> I'm still so happy to see y'all's comments and it keeps me writing. It means so much to me.
> 
> I hope y'all are still enjoying this. And sorry for the angst in this chapter and the next.

As soon as Triss left him alone, Jaskier took his lute and ran. He didn’t bother to grab anything else. Geralt would be fine. He had two Mages taking care of him. After that he could find Roach and move on with his life, leaving Jaskier alone. Jaskier tried to convince himself that’s what he wanted. It was safer that way. No one to care about glamours if there was no one there in the first place. Triss had been right, of course. And, loath as he was to admit it, so had Geralt. Traveling with a Witcher was bad enough for a normal human. And Jaskier was not a normal human. He was some kind of fae hybrid that Mages would be fascinated by and humans would be terrified of.

That’s what had drawn him to the Witcher in the first place. All those years ago, staring across the tavern in Posada, he had seen someone just as lost in the world as himself. Someone who was human enough to not be a monster, yet different enough to be seen as one. He had seen people shy away from Geralt and curse at him and had thought of his own childhood before he had learned how to keep his glamour in place. It had been one of the only things his mother had taught him before she died. When he first saw those golden eyes, he hadn’t considered the danger. He hadn’t thought that a Witcher would certainly be able to sense a glamour. He hadn’t thought anything along those lines really. He had seen a brooding, beautiful, lonely man in the corner of a cavern and the only thought about providing company. Later, after dealing with the elves, who saw through his glamour but not his act, he had stayed because of everything else Geralt was. He was noble and caring and brave and Jaskier had fallen for him. After a while, he couldn’t leave.

Not until he was sent away on that damn mountain. Even then, he couldn’t just leave. He still loves the bastard and the thought of leaving the Witcher all alone was too much to bear. Before he left, he did the first spell of his life, something he had studied but never tried. He enchanted one of his necklaces with a spell and shoved it deep into one of Roach’s saddlebags. It was a simple spell, meant to comfort the Witcher when he found the necklace. Meant to keep him from feeling so alone. Jaskier wasn’t sure the necklace had been found yet, but it didn’t matter. It would still be there when Geralt needed it.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear someone following him as he ran from Yennefer’s house. He didn’t notice them until someone called his name as he dove into the forest. When he turned to find the voice, something slammed into his head making his vision go black. When he came around again, his hands were chained behind his back and his feet were shackled to the wall of a stone cell. He couldn’t see very far in the dark cell, but upon holding his hands to his face, he could tell that his glamour was down. The metal of the shackles was a kind he didn’t recognize. Pulling against them burned and left him feeling weaker than he had ever felt before. Certainly, they were why he could bring his glamour back up. He settled back against the wall, head throbbing with pain.

Jaskier wasn’t sure how much time passed before someone appeared in front of the cell door, staring at him with pale blue eyes. Jaskier glared back. “Hello there, Julian Alfred Pankratz,” the man said. The sound of his old name sent a shudder through the bard. “I’ve spent years looking for you. You are a very unique creature, Lord Pankratz. And a clever one too. Changing your name? A very smart move. I would not have found you if it weren’t for your stepfather. He was all too helpful in telling me about your new life as Jaskier, Bard, and Barker to the Butcher of Blaviken.” The man chuckled darkly. Jaskier felt his stomach twist. The old man smiled humorlessly at him. “I’m the one who gave him that name, you know.”

“Stregabor,” Jaskier hissed, pressing himself as far back in the cell as he could. A horrible light flashed in the old mage’s eyes.

“He’s told you about me then. Did he tell you that I gave him a job? Kill the monster, as any Witcher should. He turned me down.”

“I know the story, you bastard. You wanted him to kill Renfri. She wanted him to kill you. He didn’t want to be involved,” Jaskier hissed.

“I’m not talking about the she-beast.” Stregabor glared at him. “I asked him to kill you like the monster you are.” Jaskier’s heart stopped for a second, and a copper taste burned up his throat. “Whatever strange combination of species that led to your existence is intriguing. I should like the story from you before I kill you.” Jaskier blanched, not daring to open his mouth. Stregabor opened the cell door, stepping into the dark room. “Have you lost your tongue, bard?” he hissed. In defiance, Jaskier kept his mouth clamped shut. He knew he was likely going to die here in this cell, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t do it on his terms. He would not tell this bastard anything.


End file.
